“I know. I see it.” Emlyn stepped over the mess, avoiding crushing the matting or their gowns that had been tossed onto the floor, leaving a small coffer empty. “They were thorough.”
Gwynnie moved to the coffer to see her mother was right. Whoever had searched their chamber had practically turned the coffer upside down. Running her hand over the lid, she found the wood fractured, the lock broken. In danger of getting splinters, she pulled her hand back suddenly. “They were looking for a hiding place.”
Emlyn closed the window. Gwynnie moved to her side and scrambled to press her fingers into the grooves around the stone in the windowsill.
“Together,” Emlyn urged. “One, two … now.” They lifted the stone and rested it on the sill. Peering inside, Gwynnie reached for the various linen cloths in which they had hidden the jewels. Each one was sodden, for the rain had seeped through the gaps between the slabs, but as she unfurled the first cloth, she found the jewels safely inside.
“They didn’t find them,” Gwynnie murmured. “It was what they were looking for, though.”
“It must have been.” Emlyn nodded. “Whoever came looking was searching for our guilt. The question is, who? Was it Renard?”
“Or your new friend, Pascal?” Gwynnie muttered, then she shook her head. “No. Pascal didn’t believe we were capable of being thieves, and you had him dancing to your tune. He would not have agreed to a search of our chamber in this manner.”
“Then it is the other? Renard?”
Gwynnie couldn’t answer. She righted the beds and slumped down onto hers with a wince as Emlyn dropped the linen cloth back into the gap in the windowsill, before hurrying around the space and tidying the mess. Gwynnie sat up, grimacing as she used what she could find of the straw to cushion her back. Her eyes repeatedly flitted to the closed door, fearing that if Renard had broken in once, he could do so again.
As if reading her mind, Emlyn turned her attention to the door. She lifted the latch, opening it an inch and bending down to examine the lock.
“He must have picked it,” she whispered. “Almost as good a job as you can do, Gwynnie. There are only a few scratches in the wood.”
“He wanted to find the jewels,” Gwynnie murmured, more to herself than her mother. “If he could find the jewels, it would prove that one of us was in Fitzroy’s rooms last night. That one of us witnessed Florian’s murder.”
Gwynnie closed her eyes. The whole reason she had come here in the first place was to protect her mother, to give Emlyn the chance to escape from a life of hardship and poverty. Instead, Gwynnie had placed her mother in even more danger than before.
“We need to get out of here,” she whispered.
“What?” Emlyn’s head shot up.
“Ma, we need to get you out of here.”
“Me? What about you, miting?” Emlyn moved to stand. “Last time I looked, I was the mother here. I was the protector.”
“Ma,” Gwynnie said, wincing. “If the justices catch you, they will charge you with more than just larceny. You and I both know that.”
“If they believe either of us are responsible for Master Battersby’s death, then the past hardly matters today.” Emlyn walked toward the windowsill and laid her hands protectively on the stone. “If Renard finds these, he will use them to reveal our guilt for the theft and hope he can pin the murder on us too.”
Gwynnie stiffened, her back contorting with pain. “You mean…” She paused, breathing deeply. “Rather than do anything to us himself, he’ll hope to see us convicted of the murder, to protect his master?”
“It is the way the world works.” Emlyn’s expression grew dark as she looked out of the window at the rain. “Hornets fly away before they can be blamed for their sting.”
The light was already fading as Gwynnie wandered through the courtyard. Having rested for a short while at the insistence of her mother, she was back out with the trug of laundry, intent on doing her job and hoping to disappear amongst the other staff that attended Greenwich Palace. Darkness crept in over the tiled roof, enveloping the courtyards. People scurried to and fro with lanterns clutched in pale fingers, each person hurrying to their task.
Gwynnie didn’t bother with a lantern. Both of her hands were taken up carrying the basket as she moved toward the outer walls. In the middle court, four large shadows appeared, making her pause.
The men carried a slat of wood, upon which something was laid, a clean white sheet hanging over it. The toe of a boot hung out from one end of the sheet, revealing what was underneath it. Florian Battersby’s body.
Behind the party walked Florian’s wife, Goodwife Esme Battersby. Her head was lowered, and her black hair was now tied at the nape of her neck, no longer loose and wild as it had been the last time Gwynnie had seen her.
Gwynnie crossed the courtyard and headed toward the group. Not a single person looked her way or gave any sign of acknowledging her presence. As she moved closer, she could hear Goodwife Battersby muttering to herself.
“Someone must pay. They will pay. God’s righteousness will be served upon this earth, by someone’s hand, if not by my own. Lord, I pray it is my own. I pray you, God, show me the way. Show me who did this. I shall see your justice is served.”
The need for vengeance was not new to Gwynnie. In her mind’s eye, she was a child again, little more than thirteen. She stood in the corner of the attic rooms she and her mother shared after her father had gone, trying to light a candle. Repeatedly, she struck the iron wool from a tinderbox against a piece of flint. Sparks flew in the darkness until at last the flame took.
She had watched that wax burn down for hours, the flame a small orb in the corner of the room. Gwynnie brushed away the spiders that threatened to land on her shoulders from overhanging cobwebs as the door at last opened.
Emlyn stumbled in, dressed in hose and a jerkin, with a heavy cloak across her shoulders. She could have been mistaken for a man at a casual glance. She didn’t see Gwynnie at first and leaned heavily against the nearest wall, a moan escaping her lips.
“Ma?” Gwynnie had whispered the word, capturing her mother’s attention.
Emlyn didn’t have the strength to step off the wall, but as she half turned toward Gwynnie, she revealed her palms. They were stained with blood.
“Vengeance has been served tonight, miting.”
Gwynnie blinked and stared after Goodwife Battersby as she left the courtyard, following the four men that carried her husband away. Try as she might, Gwynnie could not move. She was fixed to the spot, with the laundry in her trug dampening by the second and the loose hairs escaping her coif sticking to her cheeks.
“Curious, is it not?” a voice called to her, inflected with a French accent.
Gwynnie’s body grew cold as she turned around. Standing in the shadow of a tall archway was a figure. By now, Gwynnie could recognise the silhouette, for she had looked for it with fear throughout the day. The lithe body was clothed in that same black doublet, his long boots covering his knees. Calmly, he took a step forward, out of the shadow of the archway. Candlelight from a nearby window fell on his features. The greying hair and angular beard glistened in the light.
“Forgive me, I have frightened you.” He nodded politely, a casual smile on his lips. “We met briefly last night, in the kitchens.”
“We did.” Gwynnie kept her voice level, feeling her throat grow tight. She bobbed a curtsy, remembering just how many times her mother had told her over the years that to survive, one merely had to pretend that they were not the prey an animal wished to hunt. She had to make Renard believe she was not afraid of him, if she had any chance of persuading him that she was not the jewellery thief he had nearly caught the night before. “You described something as curious, sir?”
“I did.” His eyes flitted past her, toward where Goodwife Battersby had retreated with her husband’s body. “I have seen you twice now, lingering near Master Battersby’s body.”
“I was one of the unfortunate souls in this courtyard this morning, sir.” She hung her head, having no need to feign a sad tone for it came naturally. “I saw Master Battersby’s body along with many others.”
